Fade to Black
by Phx
Summary: READ THE WARNINGS: Blurb: Compared to this? Roosevelt Asylum was Chicken Soup for a Brother's Soul.
1. Chapter 1

Set in Season 1 after Asylum, this is the darkest thing I have ever written so please heed the warnings:

Non-con/rape; violence; strong language; major Samwhump; possible OC behaviour by all characters

I wrote this for a very dear friend. I wasn't planning on posting this when I started but now that is has grown beyond 19,000 words, I figured 'what the hell'. This will not be to everyone's liking; if you don't like, please don't flame – just stop reading. If you do like it, I do hope you will comment. Phx

**Fade to Black**

**Chapter 1**

Sam was tired. Hunting had been a bigger bitch then usual since Dean hadn't really been talking to him since what happened at Roosevelt Asylum. Not that Sam could blame him but, really, how many ways did Sam have to find, to say he was sorry? Yes, there was a grain of truth in the shit the nutso doctor had spewing from Sam's mouth, but that was all. It was like taking a drop of blood and turning it into a tsunami. Sam couldn't help but snort wearily at the irony of his choice of simile.

Right now, said older brother was out somewhere getting hammered and looking for a lay. In other words, just a regular Friday night for them.

Closing the laptop, Sam scrubbed a hand across his face and wished Dean would just talk to him instead of throwing them headlong from one hunt into another in an effort to avoid the white elephant standing in the middle of the room.

"_Find us somewhere to be tomorrow."_ Dean had hurled at him when he'd left and he didn't mean for Sam to wait until tomorrow to look for a hunt but rather, to find them something they could go hunt tomorrow.

"Like it's ever that easy," the young man sighed out to an empty room. A full body ache, the size of Jessica, had him moving towards the bed; loneliness and grief tearing apart the places Sam tried to hide. Slipping off worn sneakers, he curled up on his side on the bed, his long arms wrapping tightly around his stomach as he tried not to think about just how bad things were. But it was near impossible.

Jessica, the love of his life, the woman he was going to marry, was dead. Burned to death on their ceiling above their bed. Because she loved him. Sam had dreamt her death in color but had been too unwilling to believe his escape from hunting hadn't been thorough.

Dean, his brother, his rock was angry/disappointed/scared? of him. And who could blame him? Where once there had been an easy camaraderie and thinly disguised affection, there was two years of lost time and strangeness.

And his father, the man who had told Sam to stay gone if he left, and would quite possibly deck Sam on sight if he even acknowledged Sam was there, was an apparition they were chasing on the tail of muted whispers and cell phone co-ordinates.

And Sam didn't know what to do. He just felt so damned lost.

Shaking slightly and feeling overwhelmed, Sam closed his eyes and tried to sleep. There was a potential black dog two states over. It was vague but just enough to give them some place to go in the morning. Dean, at least, should be pleased. Well as pleased as he ever was anymore.

The familiar sound of a V8 had Sam frowning; he hadn't expected his brother back tonight at all. And neither did Dean…

Sitting up, he pushed the hair out of his face and hoped Dean wasn't coming back in a foul mood or, even worst, hurt. Early nights for the hustling Romeo were never a good sign but when Dean shoved open the door a few moments later and strode into the room, there were no bruises or blood, only a wide, bright shit eating grin and Sam felt himself relax for the first time since he heard the name Dr. Ellicott.

"Good night?" he guessed as Dean took off his leather jacket and let it drop to the floor.

"Not bad," his brother shrugged as he moved to stand in front of Sam. "But it's about to get a whole lot better."

Before Sam could ask what he meant, a swift upper cut laid him out on the bed. A second hard punch quickly followed but it was the third that knocked him out.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sam woke with a start. His face hurt, his head was pounding and it took a moment to remember what had happened. Dean had knocked him out! A moment later he heard his brother's soft chuckle. Struggling to move, he realized he couldn't. Dean had handcuffed him to the bed.

"Dean?" He saw his brother standing at the end of the bed watching him. He yanked at the cuffs wondering why the hell they had four pairs of handcuffs. "What the fuck?"

"Awww… c'mon, Sammy, don't be like that," Dean practically cooed as he approached Sam's side and looked down at him. "You've been dying for us to talk things out since you shot me up with rock-salt and tried to murder me, so I've decided, you're right. We need to talk."

"Like this?" Sam was pissed. He yanked at the cuffs again.

Dean shrugged, still standing over him. "Didn't want you taking off until I've had my say."

"That's it?" Sam stared at his brother in disbelief. "You think I'd do that?"

"Sure," Dean shrugged nonchalantly, "it's what you do. Things don't go Sammy's way, Sammy hits the highway."

"Once. I did that once," Sam corrected, his heart starting to pound. "And it was to go to school. It was you and Dad who made it permanent."

"What about Flagstaff?" Dean snarled. "You fucking ran away to Flagstaff and left me to deal with a very pissed off Dad. Do you have any idea how angry he was? You have no fucking idea!"

Sam blanched. His voice dropped low, a chill curling through his belly. He couldn't believe his brother was bringing that up. Was throwing _that_ back in his face. "You know why I ran."

Dean snorted bitterly and turned away from Sam.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I am. But I had no choice," Sam tried to keep the tremble out of his voice. He swallowed hard at the memories. "You know that."

When Dean turned back around, his jaw was clenched tight. His face black with fury and something else that Sam couldn't put a name to but it sent a tendril of fear through his body. "What I know is that you were being a pussy and ran away. You should have told me or Dad and we would have dealt with it. Instead you took off, I was worried and Dad? He was furious."

"My history teacher threatened to call social services if I didn't blow him!" Sam yelled. "I had no choice!"

"You could have blown him, Sam! You could have fucking, for once in your pathetic life, done something for this family – made one god-damned sacrifice – but no, you kicked him in the nuts and took off!"

Hot tears burned Sam's eyes as his chest heaved for air.

"You should have just dropped to your fucking knees, wrapped your lips around his cock and given him the best blow job of your life." Dean reached out and grabbed Sam's face, holding his chin tight. "It's what you should have done."

Sam was shocked. "Wh-what?"

Dean lowered his face towards Sam. He licked his lips, his gaze roving over Sam's face. "You heard me, you ungrateful little prick." And then before Sam could say anything, his brother kissed him. Chapped, lips, their skin so hot they burned, smashed against Sam's mouth, a thick wet tongue forcing past Sam's lips. The taste of alcohol and _Dean_ and _oh my God, my brother is kissing me,_ had him gagging as he tried to get away but Dean just held his face more tightly for another moment thoroughly plundering Sam's mouth before finally letting him go.

Gasping Sam stared at his brother. "D-Dean? What the… what the hell?"

Hovering above him, Dean slowly licked his own lips. "Hmmm…" he grinned lecherously. "You taste good."

"Dean?" Sam repeated, his eyes wide, his body trembling.

"Sorry, Sammy," the apology didn't meet his eyes. "But I've been wanting to do that for a long time… well ever since you told me about that asshole coming on to you. And well," he shrugged callously and indicated Sam lying spread-eagled on the bed. "This was just too good a chance to miss."

"Uncuff me," Sam demanded, needing to get to his feet and face his brother, still in shock that Dean had kissed him.

"I don't think so," Dean tilted his head to the side as if seriously considering Sam. "I kinda like you like this. It's a good look for you, Sammy." He glanced away for a second, reaching for something on the other bed. "I've taken your crap for years – it's time you took mine."

"Wh-" Sam's words were stifled when, in one fluid movement, Dean grabbed a cleaning rag and stuffed it in Sam's mouth.

"Ah. There. Much better. Perfect in fact." Dean appraised the gag then frowned as Sam shook his head, desperately trying to get the dirty cloth out of his mouth. "Hey, enough of that. I could have used my dirty underwear, you know."

Walking away from Sam, he came back a moment later with a bungee cord, wrapped it around the back of Sam's head and used it to keep the gag in place. "I was wrong before – _this_ is perfect. Now we can talk."

Sam glared at him. _Un-fucking-believable._ His brother was drunk and being an asshole. It reminded him of once when they were kids and Sam had been getting on Dean's nerves about something, Sam couldn't even remember what now, Dean had hog-tied him with shoelaces and gagged him until some stupid show he was watching was over. Dean was usually a great big brother but there times – _like now,_ a little voice in the back of his head screamed – when Dean could be an ass.

He wasn't worried yet. Not even when Dean tossed his own pillow aside and retrieved his favourite knife. Sam should have been worried. But he wasn't. Yet.

"You know," Dean stared at the sharp blade as he stood between the two beds and spoke to Sam. His voice was pleasantly conversational. "All my life, Dad gave me one main directive 'watch out for Sammy'. Nothing else. It was always 'watch out for Sammy'. Never, 'Dean, be careful' or 'Dean, take care of yourself' or even 'Dean, are you bleeding to death?' No, it was always 'Dean, watch out for Sammy," Sam's eyes tracked Dean as his brother moved to the end of Sam's bed again. "So I did. And I have to say it was the most thankless, unappreciated shit task ever. You were always so God-damned needy. Every new school it was the same, I had to go and kick ass because you were pissing people off. And things haven't changed much. I thought they would, what with you having a girlfriend and all. I figured you might have grown a set by now, but apparently not." Dean was standing at the end of the bed and watching him. Sam felt something unpleasant crawl across his skin. He wasn't ready to name it yet. "Nothing has changed, has it? Seems like every week I'm back to needing to save your ass. And what do I get for all my trouble? A chest full of rock-salt and a casket, if there'd been any bullets in that gun, from an ungrateful, pathetic, piss pour excuse for a little brother… and I'm tired of it."

Sam swallowed hard. Did his brother really feel this way? Sure Dean had been drinking but he wasn't that drunk. Was he? And even if he was, like Sam's own episode under the influence of the deranged doctor, there would be some truth in all this, even if only a small bit of truth.

"I want something back. Something for me. Something for all the trouble you've caused me." Dean moved to stand beside Sam. He lowered the knife to Sam's shirt –

Sam held his breath, feeling the sharp blade against his breastbone, only the thin material of his shirt protecting his skin. Fear startled Goosebumps across his flesh as he tried to control his breathing, wondering what the hell his brother was doing.

And then Dean sliced the first button off.

"One down," he taunted, his gaze raking down Sam's shirt, "nine more to go…"

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

**Please, I cannot stress this enough: Read the Warnings! This chapter is graphic; the worst by far, in my opinion.**

Non-con/rape; violence; strong language; major Samwhump; possible OC behaviour by all characters

**Graphic rape/language and general creepiness in this chapter.** It is short – if that helps.

**Fade to Black**

**Chapter 2**

Sam's breath quickened as his brother continued to slowly and methodically slice each button off his shirt. His heart was pounding, his mind racing as Dean continued to taunt.

"You have no idea how long I've been wanting to do this-"

Slice.

Pop.

"- how long I've been wanting to tell you exactly how I feel."

Slice.

Pop.

"How damned tired I am of pulling the weight-"

Slice.

Pop.

"-for the both of us."

Slice.

Pop.

"I've taken your crap for years-"

Sam hissed through the gag as his brother nicked his skin on that one.

"Oops."

Slice.

Pop.

"Time you learned-"

Slice.

Pop.

"Just how good I am."

Laying the knife down next to Sam's side, Dean ripped open the shirt and stared for a long moment at Sam's exposed torso. "Hmmm…" he hummed then reached out and traced a calloused finger down his brother's stomach. "Someone's been working out." His eyes flickered up to meet Sam's; his tone turned bitter. "'Bout damned time."

Then he picked up the knife and traced it lightly over Sam's skin, careful to scratch but not break the skin. Sam's nipples pebbled in response as he fought his mounting horror. No, no, no, he shook his head in denial, his brother's hatred seeping into him. Tears leaked down his face, his mind trying to deny what was happening. This had to be a nightmare. This couldn't be happening-

Dean leaned over and lightly teased at Sam's nipples with his hot tongue, first one then the other.

Sam shivered, breathing quickly and trying to keep from responding –

But then Dean bit down hard and Sam lurched, screaming into the gag.

"Awww… I'm sorry," Dean lifted his head up. His concern false and sickening. "Did that hurt?" Something darker replaced the concern. "Good." And he bit down again.

_No,_ Sam groaned into the gag. _Stop. Please. _But Dean continued on, biting and licking his way down Sam's stomach towards his waist.

Sam started to hyperventilate when his brother's hand pressed down against this groin.

"Hmmm…" Dean's voice was oil slick as he watched Sam's face, his hand squeezing now. "Wonder what we've got going on here…" the hand moved up and started to fiddle with the button on Sam's jeans.

Black spots danced in Sam's vision offering him a way out of this sick nightmare, but then Dean's hands were moving and a fist smashed into Sam's already damaged face.

Once, twice, three times. Four.

"Hey!" his brother roared, shaking his shoulders hard as Sam's head rolled weakly, a whimpered moan torn from his lips. "No checking out on me, yet, you little bitch – not when the fun is only just beginning!"

By the time Sam regained his senses, his brother was dragging the knife down his thighs, cutting Sam's jeans and boxers off and flinging the material away.

"Holy shit," Dean grinned as he drank in his brother's naked flesh. "I must have been very good in a former life." He grabbed Sam's limp dick and gave it an almost tender squeeze. "Look at this bad boy… I bet Jessica was walking funny after you powered this monster up."

Anger replaced fear and Sam growled this time.

"Awww, don't take it so hard-" Dean chuckled, his tongue dipping out to lick at his lips, his gaze firmly fixed on Sam's crotch. "Actually, I kinda hope you will." Thick, rough fingers tickled down Sam's dick, sliding behind his balls. Sam's hips bucked up, new fear igniting as Dean brushed over the tight ring of muscle, then pressed inside. Awe and something darker flittered across Dean's face. "So tight, Sammy, oh my fucking God, tight."

Ignorant of the pain, Sam rubbed his head hard against the bed trying to dislodge the gag. Oh God – he had to stop this. He had to.

"Can't wait to get my dick in there," Dean continued, his voice a lustful purr, his finger shoving in brutally hard. Crying out, Sam bucked again but his brother just followed him, a second finger forcing its way inside. "Oh yeah, baby, it's going to be a sweet ride." Dean paused, his fingers in deep. He looked up at Sam and smirked, wiggling his digits and relishing in his brother's pain as Sam groaned, cold sweat slicking sheen over his body. "A long, hard, sweet ride…" And then Dean was moving again, pulling his fingers out.

Sam groaned again, frantic now as he tried to work the gag loose, blood ran down his arms as the cuffs shredded at his wrists as Dean trailed his fingers down one of Sam's legs towards his cuffed ankle.

"I could tell you the rules, I guess – not that you'd follow them," Dean stroked the skin just above the cuff on Sam's left leg. "But here they are anyways. I _am_ going to tap that ass. It _is_ going to happen and you're probably – who the hell am I kidding?" the older man laughed. "You're not going to enjoy yourself. See this isn't about you this time. Amazing isn't it? Something in my life that isn't about you… huh…" Dean looked thoughtful for a moment then shrugged it off and continued, his fingers on Sam's skin making Sam's flesh crawl.

Sam never thought he'd be repulsed or scared of his brother before, but he was now, both of them. "Back to the story. Like I said, I am going to fuck you and you're not going to like it. In fact I don't want you to like it. Not this time anyways… the nipple play? _That_ was your manna, boy – the rest is going to be mine. But, because I am such an awesome big brother, I will let you decide how we're going to do this." He uncuffed the ankle he'd been rubbing. "We can do it the hard way. Dry-" Quick as a whip, Dean shoved his fingers, three this time, back into Sam and seemed to relish the way Sam cried into the rag and tried to lurch away, his free leg kicking out only to get pushed down against the bed with a strength Sam didn't know his brother possessed. "Or we can do it the easy way." He yanked his fingers free and wiped them against Sam's quivering and captured leg. "Lube." Before he could answer, Dean quickly added. "Ah, ah – not so fast. There's a catch."

Tears of fear and frustration caked Sam's face, his stomach tightening as his brother continued. "You have to beg me to fuck you." Horror found a new place as Dean finished. "Beg me to fuck you hard."

Sam closed his eyes and sobbed, his chest heaving. What hell kind of choice was that? Why was Dean doing this? Did he really hate Sam so much?

"Oh and one more thing," Dean leaned over and in a mockery of intimacy between lovers, whispered, his cheek pressed against Sam's face. "When I take the gag out, if you so much as clear your throat too loudly, I will cut off your balls and shove them down your throat. Are we clear?"

Sam quickly nodded his head.

"Good," Dean straightened up and started to remove the bungee cord holding the rag in place. "So Sammy," his voice was syrup sweet. "How we doing this? The hard way," He removed the gag and smiled down at his brother. "Or the easy way?"

Sam swallowed quickly to get some saliva back in his mouth. "Dean – wait," he started to protest, a frantic attempt to get his brother to come to his senses. Was Dean stoned or something? Could Ecstasy do this to a guy?

Dean cut him off by shoving a hand over his mouth. He looked disappointed. "So it's the hard way then?"

"No, no!" Sam protested, his words muffled beneath this brother's hand.

"What do you need to say then, Sam? I need to hear it…"

Sam closed his eyes in defeat. His brother was making him ask for his own rape. "Please…" he finally managed when Dean lifted his hand a fraction away from his mouth. "F-fuck m-me, Dean… please."

Dean's eyes lit up. "Sure, little brother, since you asked me so nicely, sure."

And then before Sam could say anything else, Dean had shoved his own jeans down and was on the bed, grabbing Sam's free leg and shoving it away from the younger man's body as he slammed in, his cock a solid rod of iron.

Sam screamed, the muscles in his neck cording as he bucked and writhed, searing agony ripping him open from the inside out. "No! No!"

"I forgot to mention," Dean growled as he ground down hard against his brother, his balls burning hot against Sam's ass, and then held still. "I get a veto."

And then Sam's hell truly began.

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

Set in Season 1 after Asylum, this is the darkest thing I have ever written so please heed the warnings:

Non-con/rape; violence; strong language; major Samwhump; possible OC behaviour by all characters.

**Graphic! Please heed the warnings!**

**Fade to Black**

**Chapter 3**

Dean hummed while they fucked.

Sam found himself trying to focus on the tune, on anything to block out the tearing pain of each punishing lunge. He bit his lips bloody to keep from crying out as Dean's body pressed flush against his own but he couldn't hold back the pain-filled grunts.

_Oh God. _

Dean was killing him.

_Please._

With each and every thrust.

_Stop._

And then Dean gave a massive shudder and collapsed heavily on Sam. His sweaty face pressed against the younger man's neck as he panted noisily.

_Thank God – it was finally over._

And then his brother lifted his face, gave Sam a _look_ and started all over again.

Sam's world was narrowed down to a mangled cycle of pain as his brother raped him, came, then raped him again, at some point even dislocating both Sam's shoulders when he flipped him, refusing to undo more than Sam's other ankle.

"_Doggy style, Sammy," Dean had hissed in his ear as Sam had retched on the soiled mattress, too terrified to even pass out. "You always did want a pet…" he slapped Sam's ass, "well now you get to be one!" _

_Oh God, where was Dean getting his stamina?_

Sam did finally pass out when his brother flipped him again and shoved his shoulders back into place.

He regained consciousness to the sound of Dean getting dressed. At some point – Sam didn't even remember when – Dean had also kicked off his own jeans and was now putting them back on, the rest of his clothes already on.

Sam blinked sluggishly, his whole body aching, his mind numb.

Dean, as usual, seemed to know when Sam was awake because he looked at his younger brother then grabbed his boots and started to pull them on. "Sex makes me hungry." He started towards the door, then stopped, his back to Sam. "Don't do anything stupid, Sam. I'd really hate to have to kill when I get back." Then he was gone in a blur of leather and the roar of a V8 engine and Sam prayed to God he wouldn't come back. And felt like the worse brother ever for doing so.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dean was gone now but the handcuffs weren't. His wrists shredded, Sam tugged weakly at the metal, his mind a jagged mess of confusion and the pain of betrayal. His brother, his protector, his – well, all that Sam had left, had turned so viciously on him that, now he was finally alone, Sam crumbled; the sobs he'd been holding in ripping new pain through his ravaged body.

One word skewered his heart.

_Dean._

One name was a hoarse curse across damaged lips.

_Dean_.

One thought sunk rocks in his soul.

_Dean._

_Raped._

_Me._

And, for the first time in his life, Sam didn't know where to turn.

Staring numbly at the ceiling, Sam shivered, the air cool on his naked body. He tried to ignore the cooling tackiness of blood, semen and sweat on his skin, his brother's harsh words ringing painfully in his ears.

_You could have fucking, for once in your pathetic life, done something for this family – made one god-damned sacrifice –_

…_you ungrateful little prick…_

_You were always so God-damned needy._

_I've taken your crap for years…_

He had no idea how long he lay there living up to the pathetic-ness his brother branded him with before he finally dozed off, coming awake abruptly and with a cry of pain as he tried to lurch up as the familiar sound of the Impala's engine cut through the quiet of the room.

Terror struck in his heart.

"Oh God, oh God," Sam's chest heaved. "He's back! He's back!"

Panicked, he struggled uselessly against the restraints and then froze, his eyes wide, his mouth gaping in breaths, as he heard his brother's key in the door –

And then Dean stepped inside.

Dean woke up with a massive head-ache, his face mashed into the side of the steering wheel as the car was haphazardly pulled over on the side of a dirt road. Groaning loudly, he reached up to rub at his aching head, wondering what the hell he'd managed to get him into the night before. Last thing he remembered was drowning a couple of beers in a small pub.

Things had been hell since the asylum and Dean had taken as much of the soulful, kicked puppy dog looks from Sam that he could before he had to make his escape. He knew his brother felt bad and the rock-salt wounds _had_ healed and that Sam had been under the influence of sicko Dr. McAngry but his hurt feelings and sense of betrayal were having a hard time just letting this go. _Damn, kid, my own little brother, tried to kill me! _

However Dean thought, as he straightened up slowly, his body aching like he'd had the shit kicked out of him, he hadn't meant to stay out all night either. Sam was probably pretty worried by now.

Glancing at his watch, as he screwed up his face at the bitter taste the night before left in his mouth – morning breath sucked – he saw it was mid-afternoon and frowned. Man, he must have gotten plastered. He didn't even remember leaving the club but thank goodness, he'd had enough sense to pull over before he passed out. "Shouldn't have been driving, you idiot," he chastised as blinked in the bright grey of an overcast day, then pushed open the car door and slowly stood up. The car door wasn't the only thing with a creak today.

Staggering to the back end of his baby – and holy fuck just how messed up was he? He was actually staggering – Dean leaned against the car for balance as he unzipped his fly to take a piss. He jolted, hissing out in pain as his hand touched his dick.

"What the fuck?" he growled staring down at his crotch. His penis was rubbed red. It was actually raw and for a long time he just stared down it like he'd never seen it before. Then he glanced up and looked around, his voice raising as he repeated himself, his disbelief bordering on horror. "What the fuck?"

Fear slithered over him like a scaly skin and he shuddered, suddenly filled with a desperate need to get back to his brother. Gingerly finishing his business, Dean limped awkwardly back towards the driver's seat, the denim of his jeans chaffing.

He was barely in the seat and the door closed before the car had roared to life and he was peeling away from the side of the road. He fumbled with the cell phone, his mind fumbling in ironic synchronicity as he tried desperately to remember anything from the night before. He waited as the phone rang chanting quietly under his breath for his brother to pick up. It was obvious he'd gotten laid but by who? A brick bitch? Because there was no other way to explain the damage that he'd done – or had done – to himself.

Bile rose in his throat as the rings went to voicemail. His heart pounded as hot tears threatened to burn his eyes. "Sammy?" he hated how his voice croaked as he left his message. "I – uh – I think something's happened. Sam… Sammy… I think. Oh God – I think I might have been r-raped." The word tasted like acid on his tongue and then Dean was flinging the phone across the seat, his knuckles tightening on the steering wheel. Someone must have roofied him – there was no other explanation. Someone roofied him and – oh God –

Dean pulled the car over by the side of the road, flung himself out of the seat, his body already heaving before he his knees hit the dirt.

Ten minutes later, pale faced and shaking hard, Dean got back in the car and tore up the rest of the distance between him and the motel.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

"Sam-" the name stuck on Dean's lips as he saw his brother naked, bound and bleeding on the bed. He froze, the door closing shut behind him, a gun drawn from his coat a heart-beat later. His distress buried in the face of danger.

"Where is it?" Dean's quietly hissed, his gaze darting around the room, looking for whatever had hurt his brother. Sam was staring at him, his chest rising and falling, fast. "Is it still here?"

Sam still didn't say anything. His breathing, on the verge of hyperventilation.

_Hold it together, just a little bit longer, little brother_, Dean thought even as he slowly moved further into the room, "Sam?"

"Uh?"

"Sam!" Dean's words, barked this time, made his brother jump. He'd apologize later. "Where is it?"

"I-" Sam licked his lips, his words a trembling whisper. "I don't know."

Dean waited another second until he got a good look into the bathroom. It was empty. Finally, satisfied that they were alone, he slipped the gun into the back of his pants and hurried towards his brother, determined to help his obviously traumatized sibling.

He froze when Sam recoiled from him, Sam's words, a fearful babble,, "Please, Dean – no more. I can't handle any more. Please, _please!_"

Dean's heart was pounding. What the hell happened here?

"Hey, hey," he tried to shush his brother. "It's okay – whatever did this, Sam, it's gone. Just let me-"

But Sam was having nothing to do with it. Struggling harder, his body shook and heaved as he kicked out at Dean, keeping his increasingly worried older brother away.

"Sam!" Dean finally yelled, feeling only slightly guilty for the terror that shot across his brother's bruised face. _What the hell was going on?_ "Calm the fuck down!"

And then Sam's eyes rolled back in his head and the younger man passed out.

Taking it for the momentary blessing it was, Dean let out a shaky sigh and reached to undo his brother's wrists, cursing under his breath when he saw Sam was cuffed. "Damn." Thrusting his hands into his pockets for lock-picks, he frowned when he found keys instead. Swallowing hard, and not liking the dark place his mind was shoving thoughts towards, he undid one wrist, hissing at the damage he saw – the skin almost flayed – and knew Sam'd be needing stitches for sure. Gently lowering the injured limb to rest beside his brother's still body on the bed, Dean hurried around the other side to undo the other cuff. Sam's second wrist was worse off and it took him a moment to realize why, and when he did, he almost puked. All the fingers on that hand were badly twisted and obviously broken.

"Oh Sammy…" Dean whispered, his heart pounding then grit out. "Fuck." Whatever did this was going to pay. And pay hard. Settling that arm down as well, Dean blew out a heavy breath, not even sure where else to start. His brother, other than the obvious nakedness, which in itself was discerning, was a mess - blood, bruises, and, oh Christ, was that semen? - layered Sam in filth. Savage looking bites peppered the younger man's neck and chest and it sickened Dean. Not Sam, but what had been done to his proud, strong young sibling. Jessica's corpse was barely cold and now this happened? _Ooh Sammy._

Closing his eyes for a moment and forcing himself to focus, Dean ran triaging hands down his brother's body needing to see if there was anything else broken or damaged. _Please, no, please, no._ The skin beneath his fingers was cool but still soft when he pressed gently down on Sam's stomach and Dean let out a soft sight. That was something anyways. The rest of him? Bile rose in the back of Dean's throat. Damnit, he didn't have time for this. _Sam_ didn't have time.

Pushing himself away from the bed, he forced his own sore body – and really, how could he complain about a bit of chafing and a hangover when faced with a brother that badly damaged – into the bathroom where he remembered seeing a small bowl under the sink. Turning on the warm water, he filled the bowl, grabbed a wash cloth and hurried back to his brother. Unnerved that the kid was still out, Dean made quick work cleaning the blood and – other things, from Sam, the whole time his voice offering words of comfort and promises of restitution.

Sam started to move when the washcloth swept lightly over his hip. Dean froze, his eyes eager as they searched his brother's swollen face. "Sam?" it was quiet, he didn't want to startle the kid. "Sammy? C'mon, dude, you in there?"

The awakening was instant. And brutal. One moment, Sam was shifting slightly under Dean's hand, the next he was crab crawling against the head of the bed, his eyes wide with terror, his mouth gaping soundless protests that Dean knew was the word 'No.'

"Whoa, easy, Sammy." Dean slowly pushed himself up and away from Sam, he kept his hands out in a placating manner. "Easy… I'm not going to hurt you – I'd never hurt you... You know that." He made it a fact, not a question, somehow recognizing his brother wasn't up to thinking answers right now. "See? Me? Right here," Dean moved to the end of the bed. "I'm way back here. Not going to do anything you don't want me to, okay?" He remembered reading somewhere about victims of sexual crimes needing to regain the control they felt they lost through the assault, so Dean was determined to at least give his brother that much back. Satisfied that Sam wasn't in immediate danger of dying on him, the older man was more willing to be patient right now. "You want to tell me what's going on, Sam?" he kept his voice low and non-threatening as emotion filled hazel eyes, almost green with pain, were laser fixed on him, watching every twitch Dean made.

Sam's chest heaved with each breath but he didn't say anything.

"Sam, you got to help me out here," Dean implored using soulful sincerity. "I need to know what happened. Who did this to you?" He prayed to whoever might be listening that it was a 'who' and not a 'what'. He almost gagged as his fertile mind went sideways with possibilities for a sickening moment. God, he hated his vivid imagination. "What happened?"

The tip of Sam's tongue snaked out and licked at the blood Dean's hadn't had a chance to wash off his face yet. "D-Dean?" the word was raspy and tentative as if Sam was only just now considering it to be him and that sent new chills racing down Dean's body. "I- I don't… I don't under-understand?"

Sam sounded so young and vulnerable, Dean instinctively took a step towards him, freezing when Sam's eyes went impossibly wider and he started to hyperventilate.

"Sammy, no, please no," Dean stayed where he was, his voice carrying his concern and urgency. "You have to calm down. Please. Just, calm down, okay? I'll stay right here, I promise – but you have to calm down!"

With pride in the kid, Dean watched as Sam fought to control his breathing, to take better breathes and finally, after a long few minutes, Sam tried talking again. "You… how can you not know?"

"Know what?" Terrible dread was sitting in the pit of his stomach but Dean ignored it for now. He shook his head. "Last I remember was going out for a few drinks last night – then waking up an hour ago with the massive headache and-" Dean cut himself off. Sam did not need to know about that right now.

"And?" But Sam was never one to miss a beat.

"And," Dean went for vague. "I'm a bit sore, that's all."

"A bit sore?" Sam echoed his words, his own gaze dropping as he considered his brother's words. "I suppose you would be…"

Ice slithered into the pit alongside the dread.

"Sammy?" he pushed, his heart starting to pound as things began to click into horrible places. "What do you mean – _I suppose you would be?_"

"Dean," Sam's voice wavered. "You didn't go out for a couple of beers last night… "

Dean stopped breathing.

"– you went out for beers on Friday… today isn't Saturday, Dean –"

Dean felt all the blood drain from his face.

"- it's Sunday. Sunday afternoon."

And the world suddenly rushed up to meet him.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Set in Season 1 after Asylum, this is the darkest thing I have ever written so please heed the warnings:

Non-con/rape; violence; strong language; major Samwhump; possible OC behaviour by all characters.

**Fade to Black**

**Chapter 4 **

Sam watched his brother crumble. His body itched to move, to help, but fear paralyzed him; his heart pounding hard through the thin skin of his chest. What if this was sick new game? What if it was just another a trap to break Sam in a whole new way?

What if-?

Closing his eyes, Sam forced deeper breaths through his nose.

What if it… wasn't?

Slowly. Painfully. Inch by inch, Sam uncurled himself and pushed away from the headboard of the bed, guarding his hurting hand as he kept it close to his chest. It wasn't just broken fingers that screamed agony though as his whole body hurt, shook and shivered, but, by sheer will only, he continued to move, his eyes fixed on the still form of his brother sprawled out between the beds.

"D-Dean?" he hated the tremor in his voice as he slid his long legs over the side of the bed. He gripped the edge tightly of the mattress with his good hand, his shoulders screaming in agony, his body too weak, muscles too fatigued, to stand. Thirst burned at the back of his throat, saliva coating his mouth with a thick paste. "You okay?"

A low moan had him scurrying backwards again, terror propelling with startling speed. His back banged against the wall and darkness crept at the edges of his vision but he fought to stay conscious, tenacity and stubbornness forcing all attention to the slowly rousing figure on the floor.

Dean moved like a man in a lead suit, his motions uncoordinated and unusually slow.

Sam frowned, his brow furrowed. His brother was never clumsy.

"S'my?" the word was slurred and hurt to hear. Dean sounded eerily vulnerable – "I'm s'rry… oh gawd…"

This wasn't right. Sam shook his head. Something was more wrong.

With a load groan, Dean pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and swayed a moment before finally, first one leg, then the other, he stood up. Staggering back to sit on the other bed, Dean bowed over, his head in his hands. "Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck." He whispered. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I fucked up. Oh God, Sammy, I really fucked up."

Sam's eyes burned. What was Dean saying? Was he – _apologizing_? His breathing started to quicken again.

Dean must have picked up on the change because his eyes were suddenly fixed on his brother. "Sam?" his voice held a note of caution. "Bro?"

"I-I don't – I – please, Dean," Sam didn't even know what he was asking as his mind fractured, splintered, as he struggled to make some sense out of this. That morning Dean had been raping him and now? Now he was apologizing? Sam didn't know what he was supposed to do. "Dean?"

His brother gave him a sick smile. "I – uh – I think maybe I was possessed."

Possessed? Sam slowly started to shake his head.

Dean let out a heavy breath, his face pale. "I swear, Sammy, I swear. I don't remember anything from leaving here on Friday night to waking up today sore as all bloody hell and feeling like shit. Whatever happened -" his mouth tightened, "- it wasn't me."

"Possessed?" Sam finally got the word out. Yes people got possessed, but not that often, right? And the chances of it happening to one of them? To a hunter's son? He shivered, his mind trolling through two days' worth of damage. Was it possible? That'd mean – "So you – you didn't…" tears wobbled in his eyes. "You didn't do- this?" his eyes flickered down to his body and then right back up, belatedly his good hand reached for the soiled sheet to pull it over his exposed groin.

Something dark and akin to sympathy flittered across Dean's face, "No, Sammy. I'd never do that."

"But," Dean's angry words washed over him. "You said…"

"It wasn't me," venomous conviction filled Dean's tone. "I'd never hurt you like that. Never."

"But," Sam tried again, his thoughts scattered as he tried to reconcile what had happened with this new possibility that it wasn't his Dean who'd attacked him. "I shot you – I tried to kill you."

"And you were possessed," Dean nodded his head, certainty straightening his shoulders. "Like I was." He cut Sam off before the younger man could say anything else. "Yes, I was pissed… no, not pissed, that's not right. I was hurt that you'd do something like that. Even though I knew, deep down, that it wasn't you, not really. But even then, I'd _never_ do anything like this. _Never_." Hazel eyes shone with worry. "You have to believe me, Sammy, you have to."

Mirroring his brother's actions from moments earlier, Sam licked his dry lips, his heart pounding, hope pushing blood hard through his body. He was starting to feel light-headed and knew he needed help. "Okay," he extended the olive branch of trust and prayed he wasn't being stupid. "I believe you."

Relief tugged some of the worry from his face and Dean let out a deep breath. "That's good, Sam. Real good." He started to stand. "Now… will you let me help you?"

Sam watched, his body tensing as Dean stood between the beds. "I, uh," he looked sadly at his brother, hating to admit it, "I think I need a hospital." And then darkness he'd been holding at bay overwhelmed him and the last thing Sam saw as his eyes rolled back in his head was his brother's panicked face as Dean lunged towards him.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Dean barely caught his unconscious brother as Sam toppled forward.

Cursing under his breath, he carefully laid his brother back out on the bed knowing Sam was right, he was going to need a hospital. Dean could fix a lot of things but from the blood pooling between Sam's thighs he knew this was something he couldn't. He just didn't have the expertise or gentle touch needed to stitch the kind of ripping he was sure his brother was hiding. Unfortunately, his worse fears were confirmed when Sam placed Dean's ownership on Sam's assault and Dean could pretty much guarantee the demon hadn't been considerate with preparation. And knowing exactly how large his own cock was – and he was not trying to brag about it – Dean was sure there'd be substantial tearing.

So a hospital it was.

Deciding against call an ambulance because they'd take one look at the room and call the police, Dean moved quickly, grabbing a clean blanket from his own bed and carefully wrapping his injured sibling in it. He tried to keep from noticing the bite marks that he knew would match his own mouth as the smell of blood and semen (his own, oh my God) burned like acid in his lungs with each breath. He tried breathing only through his mouth, un-Dean-like whimpers with each exhale, as he fought back surges of horror, his heart pounding out _'I-did-this-I-did-this'_ in a painful staccato against his ribs. Only for Sam did he keep keep it together, his mind numbing so he could help his brother.

Sam roused outside during the short trip between the motel room and the impala, but in place of expected panic was dull acceptance and a barely muted gasp of pain as Dean manhandled him into the back seat. He tried to be gentle, but his own body was still shaking with its own fatigue by the time, he gave his brother an apologetic look, pressed the blanket as well as he could around Sam, then backed out of the car, slammed the door and got in his own seat. "The hospital isn't far," he tried to sound reassuring, remembering seeing the sign on his way back to the motel. "You're going to be okay, Sam."

"Dean," Sam's voice was reed thin. Dean paused mid turn of the ignition key and glanced at his brother through the rear-view mirror. "Don't…" Sam paused as if to gather his strength then tried again. "Don't tell them anything."

The muscle in Dean's jaw clicked, "Sammy…" He knew there were going to be hard questions about these kinds of injuries but was already prepared to do whatever it took to get his brother help. Even if he made sure Sam was out of the hospital before the rape kit results could pin the attack on him.

"No, Dean," Sam's voice was firm. "Nothing."

Against his better judgement, he gave a short nod of his head. "Okay." Then turned on the car, put it in drive and pulled away from the room.

As expected the hospital staff were all over them as soon as Dean staggered in and yelled for help. He shook his head when they asked what happened, his worry unconcealed as he just kept pleading, "he's my brother, help him… just help him please…" then watched them wheel his brother away.

A surprisingly short time later a short brown haired nurse pushed through the double doors separating the waiting room from the treatment area. "Dean?" she asked, zeroing in on him and obviously remembering him from his dramatic entrance with Sam. The name 'Selma' titled her tag. "Sam's brother?"

Instantly Dean was on his feet. "Yeah, that's me. How is he?" Quick turnaround in an emergency room didn't always mean good things.

She indicated for him to sit back down, her face unreadable. "How much do you know about what happened to your brother?"

"Not much," he admitted honestly. "I found him like that."

Selma nodded her head as if expecting as much. "You are aware of the sexual component of his injuries, are you not?"

Dean felt the blood draining from his face. He swallowed hard, his mouth dry as his hands started to shake. "Yeah." He managed. "Kinda hard not to be."

Her smile seemed forced, even as she reached out and gave his arm a brief squeeze. "I know it's hard to see someone you love hurting like this, but I just wanted to let you know that he is getting the treatment he needs right now and should be okay."

Dean's relief was guarded. "I sense a but coming."

"But," her unsympathetic gaze belied her words. "I really do think you need to have a talk to your brother with regards to his personal safety… I am not sure how much you know about your brother's sexual proclivities, and I understand that this is a life-choice, however, without proper restraint these kind of deviances can be dangerous… The results of which, we are seeing here tonight."

"What?" Dean had no idea what she was talking about. His eyes narrowed. "What do you mean _sexual proclivities_?"

The nurse seemed surprised. "Oh," she looked a bit embarrassed. "I just assumed you knew about this… what exactly do you think happened to Sam?"

"Uh uh," Dean bristled. "What did Sam tell you happened?"

Selma looked uncomfortable and something inside Dean was pleased, but then she stilled and faced his glare. "He told us that he picked a guy up for a bit of fun, only the fun got out of hand."

Dean was taken aback. Stunned was a better word. "Huh?"

"Like I was saying," the woman continued, the previously supressed arrogance bleeding through and into her voice. "While I personally don't condone this type of behaviour, people who do partake in BDSM activities need to exercise proper caution and protocol. Both clearly of which were ignored in this case."

When Dean continued to stare at her like she had three heads, Selma finally just huffed out. "If your brother enjoys being tied to a bed, beaten, and screwed into unconsciousness, he should at least pad the handcuffs and make sure his partner properly prepares him first. There? Is that simple enough for you. I just hate seeing people put themselves through needless humiliation and pain by having to waste time in an emergency room because they got a bit out of hand while having fun."

The anger that Dean had been nursing since seeing first seeing his brother in the motel room, surfaced. He stood up to his full height, his fists clenched in rage, his jaw twitching from the exertion of holding himself back and not slamming her against a wall. He really wanted to rip her heart.

The nurse rose with him. He saw her shrink back a step as he levelled a deadly glare on her. "Listen here, you sanctimonious bitch, you have no fucking idea what is going on here," he held up his hand to cut off her protest, drawing some satisfaction when she flinched. "So if I were you, I'd keep my narrow minded, missionary style, _judgemental_ thinking away from my brother. If you can't? And Sam even feels a smidgeon of it? You'd better pray to God to have mercy on your sould…" he gave her a chilling look. "-because, I won't."

The woman went as white as a sheet. "You can't threaten me," her voice lacked any conviction and Dean snorted softly.

"Don't take it so hard," he made a show of reading her name tag, "_Selma_. I think I just did… of course, you could just get your supervisor and I can lodge a formal complaint about your attitude instead, if you'd prefer." He waited a moment then added; his voice syrupy slick. "Or how about you just let me see my brother, instead?"

Swallowing hard, Selma gave a quick nod of her head. "Of course. Follow me."

And he did, his heart doing a sick little swoop at the story his brother had obviously cooked up to save Dean's ass. If the hospital thought the damage was consensual, a sex romp gone out of hand, there'd be no rape kit DNA or pressure to find Sam's attacker. Unable to imagine his normally straight laced little brother confessing to being a voluntarily victim added fuel to Dean's determination to find the demon who had done this and send it's smoky black ass back to hell. Although hell was too good for the likes of it and Dean wished, not for the first time, that there was some way to actually kill the fuckers. But even his father's journal only contained exorcisms and such –

His father – holy shit – Dean faltered as he walked, his limp a bit more pronounced as he tried to keep his own 'injury' from chaffing. He needed to call his father. Even after Sam healed and knowing that Dean was possessed during the attacked, Dean wasn't stupid enough to think this wasn't going to affect his brother in other ways. More permanent ways that his father should be aware of.

But how the hell do you call your father – the great fucking John Winchester – and tell him that not only did you let yourself get possessed, but that you raped the shit out of your little brother?

Swallowing hard, Dean pushed the thought to the back of his head and followed the nurse into Sam's room. He'd figure it out later.

Dean ended up having to wait outside the small room Sam was being treated in as the doctor finished with the internal stitches. The nurse, before excusing herself to do something else (Dean didn't care what, only too pleased she was going to be somewhere else), had been _kind_ enough to tell him that the lacerations to Sam's wrists would also need stitching and that once Sam was cleared by x-ray, they'd probably keep him overnight for observation, on an IV to replace lost fluids and strong antibiotics. Then, if there were no further complications, they'd release him in the morning. Dean had only partially listened. Nothing she said came as a surprise – he'd seen the damage himself, though the dehydration had come as a mild shock, but he was more focused on listening to what he could hear from the room then on anything she had to say. The muffled voice of the doctor and softer tones from Sam had him relaxing a bit – at least the physician didn't sound like he was giving Sam a hard time.

Finally, he was allowed back in where his brother, now clothed in a white gown, had his eyes closed and seemed to be resting, reclined on a small bed. The doctor glanced up at Dean from where he was writing something down on a chart at the end of Sam's. "You must be Sam's brother. Dean, is it?"

Dean's eyes laser focused on his brother, not missing how Sam's eyes shot open and his whole body tensed when he saw Dean. The kid's face was a mess. His lips were red and swollen, his eyes darkened with bruises, his right one almost swollen shut. Sam's body was mostly hidden by the gown but Dean still saw the handprints on Sam's arms and the stark white bandages protecting damaged wrists as his eyes followed the IV tubing. Dean breathed out an unhappy noise and nodded at the doctor's acknowledgment. "Yeah, I'm Dean. How's Sam?" He tried to brace himself for what he was going to hear.

"Not too bad, all things considered." the doctor was a tall, thin man with thick grey hair and square black rimmed glasses. He pushed the glasses up on his nose and glanced at Sam. "He needs to take it easy while his body heals but the damage is mostly superficial, the concussion and rectal tearing being the worse." Dean flinched but the other man didn't seem to notice as he continued. "I've stitched his wrists and cleaned the other bites and scratches. The IV is a saline mixture of anti-inflammatories and antibiotics to both help with swelling and prevent infection, as well as topping up his fluids." He tapped at the bag. "His level of dehydration was a concern. I do understand how one can get – caught up with things, but there really are some basic needs that just can't be ignored," the doctor stated, matter-of-fact, no judgement in his tone and Dean decided right then he really liked the guy, even if he really hated Sam's cover story. Instead of being treated like the victim he was, Sam was being lectured, albeit this time, lightly.

He looked at his brother but Sam wouldn't meet his gaze.

"He's also been given a shot of Demerol for pain and I'm going to prescribe a topical mediation to help with healing. It _is_ going to need to be applied three times a day though to start and it's something Sam will need help with. He can be brought back here on an outpatient basis of course, if you're uncomfortable helping him with this."

Swallowing hard, Dean closed his eyes for a moment knowing exactly where that cream was going to need to be applied. "Yeah – okay, I'll…" his gaze flickered to his brother but Sam still wasn't looking at him. "It's up to Sam." It would awkward as all bloody hell but there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for his brother but this was not his decision to make. Sam already been violated by Dean's body enough.

Seemingly satisfied the doctor turned his attention back on his patient. "Sam?"

"We can come back," Sam almost made it a question.

"Yeah," Dean readily agreed as he licked his lips and sighed quietly. "Whatever Sam wants."

"Good," the doctor nodded then fixed his patient with a frown. "Now about those tests-"

"Can I talk to my brother alone for a moment?" Sam interrupted, his voice oddly quiet in the room. He gave the doctor an imploring look.

The man looked from one brother to the other then shrugged. "I do have another patient to check on – I'll be back in ten." And then he was gone, leaving the hunters alone.

Shifting where he stood, Dean waited to see what Sam was going to say.

"He wants to test me for STD's and things, so I have to ask you," Sam's voice was monotone. "Do I need to be tested?"

Dean gaped at his brother, his mind struggling for a moment before full horror at what Sam was asking/saying flooded him and barely made it the few feet between him and a visitor's chair before collapsing into it. "I – uh – damnnit… no condom, huh?"

"No lube either," Sam said nastily and then looked horrified as soon as he realized what he'd said. "I'm sorry, Dean – that was uncalled for."

Dean shook his head. "Don't you dare apologize to me, Sam. You have nothing to apologize for."

"And neither do you," Sam was adamant. "You're as much a victim as I am." At Dean's look of disbelief, he amended. "Okay, maybe not quite as much but – you didn't want this happen."

Dean's head was reeling. Sam was trying to make him feel better? Unfortunately Sam misinterpreted Dean's silence.

"I mean… did you? I know you were pissed – and-"

"And nothing," Dean leaned towards his brother, insanely relieved when Sam didn't flinch away. "Sure, I was pissed, but you're my brother, Sam, and I'd never want something like this to happen to you. _Ever._ I was being petty and stupid… I knew you weren't in control and not only did I know it, I pushed you to pull that trigger. Hell, I pretty much dared you – so it was hypocritical of me to then blame you when you did. Sam – I don't know how else to say this but I am so fucking sorry… I don't even know what to do here. How am I supposed to make this better? Tell me, Sam, just tell me. Anything. I will fucking do anything."

zzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Sam listened to his brother's impassioned plea. His heart ached to believe but it was too soon, the hurts too fresh. So instead of answering just yet, he fixed his gaze on his injured hand and repeated his earlier question. "Do I need to be tested?" He hated needles and just prayed that for as sexually active as his brother had always been, that Dean had also used common sense… and protection.

For the longest time, Dean didn't answer and then a quietly and oddly subdued, "No. It's not necessary. I'm clean, Sam," broke another piece of them and Sam wondered if they'd ever get all those pieces back together again.

**Authors Note:** _Um, Okay. Here is the thing… It has come to my attention, that the content of this story might be too graphic for fan fic dot net, so I am not going to be posting any more chapters here. However, if you still want to read, you can go to my Live Journal, where it will be posted in its entirety._

_If you don't know how to get there, go to my profile on fan fic dot net and click on HOMEPAGE. It will take you right to my Livejournal. _

_Bottom line, is that I am having 'fun' writing this story and do not want to have to worry about getting into 'trouble' so I am going to play it safe. _

_Phx69_


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